A Divided House
by See The Light
Summary: When the person in the mirror is your enemy, the one you have to defeat, what would you do? What would you do if that person in the mirror... was you? American Civil War fic, USUK, historically accurate.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any character mentioned here, except for Jefferson, nor do I own Hetalia, or anything else mentioned here.**

**I got inspiration for this a while ago, and considering the Civil War was one of my favorite topics to study, I decided that I would write about it. This is my own spin on Alfred during the Civil War.**

**The title comes from a quote from Abraham Lincoln. "A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved; I do not expect the house to fall; but I do expect that it will cease to be divided. It will become all the one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in course of ultimate extinction, or its advocates will push it forward until it shall become alike lawful in all the states, old as well as new, north as well as south." **

**Approx. time spent: 3 hours, including research and planning. **

* * *

The sound of a door slamming rung through the house as a man stepped into his home. A dejected sigh left the man's lips, the door shutting behind him. He shuffled to his bedroom, ignoring the sharp snaps of thunder outside, the cries of civilians, his _people_, echoing through his head.

He stopped at his bedroom, his legs giving out underneath him as his head slammed against the wall.

"_What are you doing, Alfred?"_ He could hear him, the same harsh accent, the same angry undertone of his words.

He didn't have an answer back then, and he wasn't sure he had an answer right now.

He couldn't survive a century without him.

He was pathetic.

Suddenly, he rose, his legs shaking like he could've fallen at any second. It felt like he had no control over them, they walked him to the mirror.

At first, there was no difference. Sure, he looked a little ragged and tired, with cuts and bruises here and there, but he could still see traces of himself hidden within the differences.

Then he saw his eyes.

This wasn't right.

He knew his eyes were blue. When he was a colony, Arthur would often compare his eyes to the bright blue sky, the shimmering depths of the sea that separated the two nations. Many people would comment on them too, remarking how unnatural they looked. Alfred would always give them a cheerful smile and be on his way.

But these eyes.

These eyes were a brilliant, scarlet red, a color that had been too familiar recently.

In those eyes, he could see the blood pooling around his soldiers, his people, his children.

"Hello, Alfred," A voice thrummed through his ears. Alfred spun around, surveying his room.

Nobody was there. And with a voice this clear, the person must have been close.

"Where are you?" Alfred tried to yell, but no voice came out, worn from weeks of yelling orders and trying to reassure his fellow soldiers. He looked back to the mirror again, and saw himself, a sinister smile on his lips.

"Hello, Alfred," The voice repeated. Alfred shook his head, looking at the mirror again.

"Who…" The soft croak left his lips.

"You don't know who I am?" The reflection cackled. "Tell me Alfred, how's your war goin'?" His drawl was strong, and sounded more southern than Alfred had ever acted.

"Not so good. Why?" Alfred answered hesitantly, the worried ache in his throat suddenly clearing.

"That's what I thought." The eyes widened, his smile seeming more amused.

"You still don't know who I am, do you?" He asked in disbelief, looking like he wanted to laugh at any second. Alfred paused.

"No. Not any clue," Alfred admitted. God, was he going insane? Talking to a mirror, talking to a mirror that held a reflection that _wasn't him._ The reflection howled with laughter.

"You really are as oblivious as they say, aren't you?" He said, grinning.

"Alfred, I'm you." Alfred didn't react for a few seconds, simply staring into the mirror. Then, he burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh, that's rich, you really got me there for a sec," Alfred giggled. The mirror remained silent.

"Alfred, you are a real piece a' work, aren't ya?" He snorted. "I'm the guy you're fighting, not that damn Union wretch who seems to think that the blacks should be _freeeee!_"

And all of a sudden, Alfred saw it.

He saw himself, screaming and yelling when a confederate soldier was struck by one of his men. The same person who cursed and wailed at his allies, who ran to the body and vowed revenge.

He did this.

Another bang of thunder, another minute of his pounding heart as he stared into the mirror.

"You…" Alfred breathed. "You're the reason that everything hurts, that I have to fight my own people…" Alfred's face contorted to rage.

"YOU!" He screamed, smashing his hands against the mirror. The mirror shrieked as it fell to pieces, each shard hitting the floor with a soft '_plink'_. Blood dribbled down his calloused hands as he panted, glaring at the mirror.

"You're gone…" He hissed, "You're dead. You're not here." He let out a hysterical cry, falling to his knees.

"Oh, but my dear Alfred," He heard a voice behind him, "I will always be here," The voice crooned. Alfred whipped around and saw him, standing the same height as him, staring at him with those unreal eyes, the same unruly hair that refused to stay down.

"GO AWAY!" Alfred shrieked. His doppelganger smirked.

"But how can I, Alfred? I am you, I will always be you, and you are _losing._ Soon, your people will see you as me, and they'll worship me, just as they worship you and your sweet darling Lincoln," He taunted. "I'll be known as… Jefferson. Just like good ol' Tommy," He murmured thoughtfully.

"That won't happen!" Alfred screeched.

"Alfred, you ought to get those glasses of yours fixed and see just what is happening. Guess who I have on my side?" Jefferson whispered. Alfred looked away from him.

"_Guess,"_ Jefferson demanded.

"… Lee," Alfred answered, but somehow, he knew what he was going to say, and he dreaded hearing it from _him._ Jefferson snickered smugly.

"I've got your precious Arthur on my side. He doesn't mind if the blacks work for me, he'll recognize me as a country! And you're your own, no help, no hope of winnin' this." Alfred winced.

"He's neutral in this," Alfred whispered desperately. Jefferson's grin got wider.

"So I guess that visit I got from him a few days ago was just a hallucination?" He snickered. Suddenly, Alfred's eyes flashed, and he no longer saw Jefferson. Instead, he saw Arthur.

"So you'll support me?" He heard a voice that sounded eerily like his ask. He looked around. The room wasn't very big, and looked vaguely familiar. He realized that it was his house in Texas, a house he hadn't been to in a while. He looked back to Arthur. He saw the eyes, the glowing green eyes that he had seen for every day of his childhood.

Arthur took a sip of his tea, glancing at him steadily.

"If you can win, I'll acknowledge you," He answered shortly. It seemed he refused to look into his eyes, simply staring on his hands.

_Please, please look at me Arthur. _

Alfred felt himself smile.

"That's all I needed to hear."

Alfred recoiled, gasping, the vision suddenly gone as he found himself staring into those crimson eyes.

"So did you see him?" Jefferson asked. "Did you see… him?" His eyes flickered, and turned to jade. His hair lightened and spiked, and suddenly, he was Arthur.

"Would you like to know the other side of the deal?" He even spoke with the same, smooth English accent as he circled around Alfred. Alfred stared at his bloody hands. The glass shards embedded in them sparkled. He didn't reply, feeling himself shake.

"The other side of the deal was," Jefferson whispered. "That you wouldn't exist. You'd be like me, doomed to roam the insides my mind until it becomes as disturbed as yours is right now." Alfred couldn't speak, couldn't move, as Jefferson stopped in front of him.

"And that wouldn't happen. Because while I'm exactly like you, I'm the South. I'm _stronger_ than you. _Braver_ than you. You, boy, are nothing but a pathetic, weak, homosexual brat." Alfred's eyes flickered to Jefferson.

"I'm not a homosexual," He rasped. Jefferson guffawed.

"I've lived in your mind for years. You think I don't feel your thoughts when you look at Arthur?" It was like he had told the best joke in the world, the way Jefferson reacted. "Hell, even right now. You're strugglin' to remember that I'm not Arthur, not your beloved, not your secret infatuation. Need I go on?" Alfred looked back at his window, staring at the rain pouring onto the glass. He wanted to see those green eyes, staring back at him. He wanted the real ones, not the eyes in front of him. Those eyes, they didn't look anything like Arthur's. They looked… plastic compared to the brilliant emerald eyes.

"I won't lose to you," Alfred murmured, clenching his hands into fists. He ignored the searing pain in his palms as the glass dug deeper, sucking in a pained breath. Jefferson smiled, his eyes darkening to red once again, his hair fading to the dirty blond that it was before.

"And how will you make sure of that?" Jefferson quizzed, as if he was talking to a young child. Alfred stood up, feeling courage swell in his heart.

"I'll kill you." His voice didn't waver as he grabbed his rifle. Jefferson looked at the gun.

"Alfred," Jefferson sighed, disappointed. "You can't kill me. I'm you." Alfred cocked his gun, a dark smile spreading across his face.

"But I can kill you if you exit my mind, correct?" Jefferson nodded slowly.

"Well there's no way in hell you're gonna make me do that," Jefferson laughed, but Alfred could see nervousness in his eyes.

"Well," Alfred said calmly, no falter in his voice. "I'll do it my way."

And as Jefferson stood tall, Alfred stumbled off to his bed.

"Whaddya doin'?" Jefferson asked. Alfred didn't reply, shutting his eyes as he curled up in his bed, weapon by his side. Jefferson shrugged. Maybe he was drunk off his weak North wine. He snorted to himself.

"Northern wine," He chuckled. "What a joke." He strolled back into the mirror, whistling _God Save The South_.

He didn't know what would happen, just a few hours after that.

He remembered this place.

The rain dripped down his face, the squelch of the mud beneath his feet made him think of memories, memories flying across his mind.

He looked onto the horizon as he saw him, running forwards, toward him.

Arthur sprinted, musket swung onto his shoulder. He glared with those green, _emerald_, eyes as he prodded Alfred's chest with his bayonet. They stood in silence, the only sound was the rain and Arthur's ragged breathing.

"Arthur…" Alfred whispered. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur." It felt like he could only repeat his name as he stared into his eyes. Arthur dropped the gun, it clattered on his boots as Alfred wrapped his arms around him. He could feel the soft puffs of breaths on his face as he leaned in, the thrum of his heart against his.

"Alfred," He breathed. Alfred smiled as his hair tickled his cheek. So close, so close…

"I'm not a homosexual, you said!" He heard a loud, boisterous laugh echo around the field.

"What a liar you are, North!" Jefferson roared with laughter as he stepped onto the field, dressed in Confederate attire. Alfred pressed his lips to Arthur's cheek, whispering something in his ear. Arthur nodded, and faded away, eyes focused on Jefferson.

Alfred sighed.

"Jefferson, I'm getting pretty sick of you." His voice held no nervousness, no falter, nothing except plain frustration, and somehow, amusement. Noting Arthur's gun, he picked it up, staring Jefferson in the eye.

"Hey, I ain't a big fan a' you either, you disgustin' queer." Jefferson's tone was no longer amused, instead, he sounded more like he was snarling. "So, princess, let's get this lil' shindig on the road, shall we?" His gun materialized into his hands. He held it up proudly, cocking it, making sure that it was louder than usual. Alfred nearly rolled his eyes, but resisted, making sure his gun was loaded. Jefferson grinned, seeing the out-dated gun.

"You really think you can beat me with _that_ hunk a' junk?" He chortled. Alfred smiled.

"I think I have a few more tricks up my sleeve than you do," He replied. Jefferson quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, looks like little Lincoln lover's got a plan here," Jefferson drawled. It seemed that Jefferson didn't know what was going to hit him as Alfred smiled.

"Well then. En garde," Alfred said. Jefferson held his gun up.

"En garde."

The battle started then. Alfred ran swiftly toward his opponent, a shot directed to his abdomen. Jefferson let out a soft wheeze, but otherwise did not react, pressing his bayonet to Alfred's weak, bony body. Alfred sucked in a breath, but didn't make any noise.

As they danced around their battle, Alfred decided to bring out the big guns. His eyes fluttered shut as he concentrated, _concentrated_. He heard Jefferson snigger.

"Are ya really that bold, boy? Fightin' with your eyes closed?" Jefferson called.

An army of men appeared, guns in hand, staring at Jefferson. Jefferson stared at the crowd.

"Well, your move, Jefferson, " Alfred said patiently, gesturing to his men. Jefferson looked frantically for something, _something _he could use.

"How?" He asked. Alfred's smile couldn't have been wider.

"This is my dream, Jefferson," He said. "_My_ dream. I can do what I want in _my _dream." Jefferson looked at one of the men as he reloaded his gun.

"Well I can control your dreams," Jefferson replied weakly.

"No, you can't. Because my dreams… are your reality. Checkmate, Jeff." The army started shooting at Jefferson, as he dodged, trying desperately to shoot back.

And with a final shot, Jefferson went down.

Alfred woke with a start as he felt hands wrap tightly around his neck.

"I'll win, North," Jefferson hissed. "If you die now, I'll win." Alfred started to choke, scrambling at the hands clenched around his neck.

Suddenly, his hands slipped off, like they were covered in butter. Jefferson stared at them in disbelief. Alfred grinned.

"Hear that, Jefferson?" He asked. Jefferson gave him a blank stare.

"What am I hearin' for?" His tone was sarcastic.

"The Union just won," Alfred whispered. "And you… are nothing." Alfred pressed a hand to Jefferson, noting the shocked expression on his face as his hand slipped through his body.

"See ya, Jeff."

And with a slight frown, and no concern for the man dying in front of him, he went to go clean his bloodstained hands.

* * *

**England recognizing the Confederate States: Though they stayed neutral throughout the American Civil War, there was a possibility that the UK would've recognized the Confederate States as a country, but after the Battle of Antietam (September 17****th****, 1862), they dropped any notion of recognizing them, when the Union had a (technical) win. As the UK didn't support them, most of Europe wouldn't either, as they didn't have enough material to do so without the UK. **

**Timing of the Story: This story takes place fairly close to the ending of the American Civil War. The South was slowly losing; they had no support from Europe (see above) on whom they were counting heavily on, and were losing men quicker and quicker. Despite this, Jefferson is still a fairly cocky man, and was confident that he would win. However, he makes sure to cover all of Alfred's weak points, including Arthur, even if he no longer has support from him. Alfred doesn't know much about what the Confederacy was doing, and could only get his information from Lincoln, as Jefferson would take over when there was Confederacy business, therefore, he had no clue about Arthur supporting him. He thought that it was his war to fight, and his war only.**

**Alfred's Gun: The Springfield Model 1861 was the most widely-used shoulder arm during the Civil War. It was favored for its range, accuracy, and reliability.**

**Jefferson's Gun: The British Pattern 1835 Enfield was used by both Confederate and Union soldiers, but seemed to be the preferred weapon of the Confederates.**

**Arthur's Gun: The British Land Pattern Musket (Brown Bess) was used by both sides of the American Revolutionary War, originating in Great Britain and used in many battles, including the Napoleonic Wars, the War of 1812, and the Seven Years' War. While very advanced back then, it's now like a toy compared to the guns of today, only being able to shoot 100 yards (91.4 meters) at the most. **


End file.
